Some Appreciation and Hope

"The root meaning of the word family is household, a gathering of people who take shelter together. No matter how troubled our households, we're going to keep on taking shelter together becuase we need one another..." Scott Russell Sanders, Hunting for Hope

This is not a normal post. Hunting for Hope is lovely, a balm of Gilead, though.

For the last seven weeks, my ward has been bringing dinner to a woman in our ward. Every night. Two more weeks to go. She crushed a joint in her foot, is on a walker, and needs extra help right now. Since I'm the compassionate service leader I've had the chance to talk with her often, coordinate meals, and bring meals when things fall through. On top of this, we've had other emergencies, surgeries, crises. On average, my Relief Society has brought in three meals a night to someone in the last two weeks, given rides, babysat, and zillions of other unseen, unreported, loving acts. I cringe a little every time I need to call another person to ask for more service--but no one hesitates. They say, "I'll make it work" and "Thank you for this opportunity" and I'm humbled wondering if I have such faith and gratitude and cheerfulness. Too often I feel overwhelmed by lists and urgencies, but they show me that love and compassion is just part of living. They teach me what it is to be followers of Christ, to be family, to shelter together even when there is so much smoke in the cave you can't see each other, even when our own problems reek, even when we just need a little air--we're family.

Open Mouthed and Wondering

I've been thinking about (missing) my dad today. And how Levi sometimes looks like him and I think, "How did Corrie get in there?" This (above) is not an expression I've seen from my father.

While very few things compare to scripture for me, every now and then I need a silly book. Yes, silly. Not poorly written, but strictly for fun. So I just listened to Shannon Hale's Austenland and giggled. Levi, poor kid, endured to the end. He liked the voice better than the reader of Candy Freak (which has interesting research, but the author is annoying and frankly, not even worth blogging about). Levi just awoke from his lengthy 20-minute nap and I'm remembering all the other things I should be doing because I recognize that this blog is mostly self-promotion and that thought makes me uncomfortable. Shannon Hale is enjoyable and recommendable.

Yesterday I shoved all the unrevised pieces I'm considering for my thesis and came out with a 100 page document. Crappy. Unpolished. Disconnected. But 100 pages. Perhaps I'll be able to pull this off by December as planned.

In other news, my essay "Full Stop," (previously known as "Period!") will be published in the next issue of Tusculum Review. Found out last week, and yes, I'm a bit giddy. I'll probably (unfortunately--check out these adverbs, will ya?--) get over this soon. But I am pleased. Wesley is narrowing our grad school options. We're down to 8 and need to go down two or three more since each application is about $90. I'm so excited to go (anywhere) with him; I do worry about leaving my writing friends, my workshop buddies, my essay posse. Who will tell me when I inadvertently make sexual comments, or when I should keep working on something, or when I really should just ditch an idea.

And, after Conference and a series of 3 a.m. revelation periods, I may be taking up poetry and even Emily Dickinson again.

Some moments you can roll over on your own, and some moments you just don't want to...

Welcome Autumn

"...as leaves // preserve the tree by learning / to relinquish it." --Linda Gregorson, "Elegant"

It is the first official day of autumn. Sunlight glows through the chill. My neighbor boys scamper around our house in jackets and loud voices. Buses heave with the onslaught of school, responsibility, and the distant idea of holiday. Sharpened #2 pencils all around. Levi wears long sleeves and footies. He stares at his feet and grabs his bib. He rolls over and passes me a shocked expression, particularly when I shriek in delight. Levi is my little leaf--strange that we are preserved by our posterity, and yet in a few generations my posterity may only have a vague memory of me. Will I still be "preserved"?

Autumn is my favorite season. I wish I could live in a perpetual autumn. It even smells like poetry.

In October, I am allowed all the ice cream I want to celebrate the sweet reality of autumn. Last night we made anniversary cookies (so named since my parents served them at their wedding reception and Mom makes them every August 22. I've decided to glom onto the tradition since I made hundreds and hundreds of them for our casual gathering. A bit late to mark our two years, but why not start now?). Wes frosted the wafers as I bathed Levi. The little bug gazed contentedly at us. He doesn't notice the mold. He doesn't care about the crammed space. Windows surprise him. Despite my inclination to be continually unsatisfied, I looked at my two men and thought, "Can it really be any better than this?" Perhaps autumn will tell.

For the last month or so I've been thinking about Jonah. I used to think he was silly for trying to run away from God and his calling. Starting to believe his instinct is understandable. He knew he could not escape, but he knew he could choose his own path, and perhaps he wanted to see how long he could delay what he knew was right. Procrastination? Righteous resistance? Mere pride and short sightedness? I don't like arguing with God; it's much worse than being digested alive. There are days I wish I could dwell in the belly of a whale, when I say please please swallow me. But I don't think I need to trace the intestinal tract of a sea monster or be spewed upon the land I deserted to be grateful for each breath, grateful that guidance comes my way.

Welcome Autumn. I'll sing the psalms with you.

I love Joni Tevis

"What I Want
To know what it means to live a biblical life, uncloistered every day. This is my book of new ritual, of learning to live a prophetic life in conjunction with another....My practice is observation. How do relationships illuminate?" --Joni Tevis, "A Field Guide to Iridescence and Memory"

Two and a half weeks ago while searching for books linked to Ander Monson's Neck Deep and Other Predicaments I discovered Joni Tevis. Sadly, I'd never heard of her before. Joyfully, I found her! And now I share the glory with you.

The Wet Collection was published in 2007. This is the first essay collection that the subcategory of "lyric" doesn't annoy me. She doesn't write meaningless, annoying sentences! Her writing is not obscure or needlessly "experimental" (please excuse the scorn, I've been frustrated, I'm sure they are nice people). Tevis writes crisply. Her images border between song and dream. Her lucid thought process on the page invites you to ruminate with her. She writes honestly.

I think she's changed my life. Really.

A door opened as I read her work. (A cyclone, actually--but how does it open and yet not blur--?) Essays are the literature of thought. Revised, artful thought. Since I live in LaLa Land 70% of the time, many of my thoughts linger there. The Wet Collection allows the imagination to spin new yarns--the hypotheses and conjectures are included as essays because (duh! moment here) they are part of how she thinks. Hurray! Bring on LaLa Land and its provinces.

I don't think I've felt this liberated about my writing since I came to college four and a half years ago. Hallelujah. Praise the angel Joni.

Read her book--refreshing and rejuvenating, and not just for those in a writing slump.

Spotlighting My Students

In class last night my students decided that they want our blog to go public. They want the world to comment on their work. Check it out: www.ruminationresearchwriting.blogspot.com

Cheerful Duties

"There is no duty we so much underrate as the duty of being happy." --Robert Luis Stevenson, "An Apology for Idlers"

Like pretty much everything in my life, I've made a goal of happiness. (Yes, there have been years when "smile" opened and closed the to-do list). Rays of sunshine add warmth and light even when they are fleeting. Walking to campus in the winter during my first year at BYU I thought I would freeze to death. I slept in my down filled coat. Occasionally, though, the sun glinted on the snow and I would dash out to meet it suddenly filled with hope. I never felt completely deserted with faith in the sun.

We are supposed to be the light of the world. Yesterday I was a dark cloud with too much rain. Levi didn't know what to do with me. Today I've been cloudy with a chance of rain. Regardless of the temperature or season, I'd like to be sunny.

Stevenson reflects on how happiness and pleasure multiply. When you see a happy person, your happiness increases. Thus, he argues, we all have a duty to be happy and increase the joy in the world. Is that possible? I like to think that it is.

Most of my spiritual moments manifest themselves through streams of happiness. If it is our duty to be happy, is it God's as well?

Is part of being the savory salt spreading a feeling of well-being and possibility? Can hope thrive through darkness if it knows there is a light somewhere?

Perhaps I am not capable of being the sun (frankly, no--only the Son can do that) but I'd like to be a lamp or candle. On a generator. One that doesn't melt or flicker out when you most need it. Even when I'm frazzled and unorganized and frustrated, I'd like to grant a little flame existence.

If we "are the light of the world" don't we all have to reflect each other?